


Incidere Ex Gratia

by ffeater



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/F, Grail Quest, Princess Emma Swan, White Knight Emma Swan, Younger Swan Queen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-09 16:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffeater/pseuds/ffeater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rescued from obscurity and squalor, Emma Swan has begun an unsteady life behind the walls of her parents' castle but when the opportunity arises to see the end of the threat that separated her from her family she ends up the unwilling companion of Regina, a fallen Queen forced to settle an old debt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The castle always smelled like salt, in the summer when the air was hot it would pour over the walls and down into the courtyards flooding the area with the scent of kelp and sea foam. From the dungeons you could sneak down to the stone banks where the rocks were covered with barnacles, between shifts guardsmen would go down to swim. Now and then one would come back having slipped and been cut, carried by his friends to be treated with bandages and opium. Emma imagined that had she grown up with her family she might have succumbed to something similar, young and clumsy, sneaking out to swim. Instead she’d grown up with hay fever and calluses and as grateful as she was for her hearth in the castle it had never been home enough for her.

 

At twenty years old, royally summoned, she’d found her life replaced by a fantasy she’d dreamed up as a child and herself unable to sleep in a featherbed. She’d been raised in a town orphanage, or at least she’d grown there. Her raising had been done at the stables, trading work mucking for riding lessons the forge where she would stoke fires for a chance to learn to hold a sword. Reading had been most difficult with no abundance of teachers but profess a love of God zealous enough and a nun or two would teach you to read verse. Emma Swan had raised herself and had been angry about that for a long time.

 

The ruse was explained to her when her father’s guard had been dispatched to retrieve her from the village and again later when her mother met her in tears, throwing her arms around her neck. The initial wonder of her own luck had been stunning but the idea that she had been abandoned, even for her own safety, had eventually led to sulking. The castle, now her castle, was massive and light. The tower peaks could see past the mountains and across acres of forest. That bay it sat on was good for fishing and the larder was full to bursting with the seasons harvest, it was every convenience a village orphan could have imagined. Her parent’s tutors had been surprised at her education, prepared, as they were to swoop in and make her a proper lady of the court. In her four months since arriving the only thing that’d lifted her spirits were the feasts. They were as often as she might have wanted them and all with wild boar or venison and enough wine for one to drown a dozen grown men. After feasts, warm with spirits she’d taken to walking the castle. Growing up in squalor had taught her that an unfamiliar space was an unsafe one so she’d learned the paths to the kitchens and the men who manned the battlements. At night she liked the open space of the bailey or the courtyard outside the chapel where one of the monks had been growing herbs. The chapel itself she generally avoided, the colored light through the windows gave her headaches. It was the step-way to the guard’s quarters she liked the most. It spiraled against a low wall beneath the castles main bridge. The smell of salt was stronger there, down so close to the sea where you could hear it lapping at the blood on the barnacles of the men who’d fallen. Delirious on opium they didn’t know the tide had a taste for them. In the morning it was the strongest and waking up to sneak back to her chambers afforded her a view of the sunrise over the mountains. In the morning midway up the stone steps she heard the clink of armor in the training yard. A group of men stood in ranks at the call of the master-at-arms and suddenly she had no intention of returning to bed.

 

“What’s going on?”

Archie must have jumped a foot in the air.

“Emma, what are you doing down here? The King and Queen-”

            “Don’t worry, I was just taking a walk. What’s the crowd for?”

It was easy to tell by the way he looked back down at his work that the next thing out of his mouth was going to be a lie but even if he hadn’t she would have known, Emma had a thing with lying.

            “Just normal training stuff, you know Emma you should get back up to the castle before your parents start looking for you.”

            Archie was soft-spoken and normally assisted in the castle’s library; he was well read and good with alchemy. Good enough to not be in the barracks by coincidence. There was a man Emma didn’t recognize in the courtyard, he stood in front of the guards and said something indistinguishable at a distance. He was young, but a knight by his armor, which wore a sigil she didn’t know: a large sun on fire.

“In full armor? Just because I wasn’t raised in the castle doesn’t mean I’m dumb.”

            “I don’t think you’re dumb, Emma. I think your parents have told you not to hang around down here.”

“They have, then again, they shipped me off to be raised by strangers. I feel like they don’t get as much of a say here as they’d like.”

 

            Archie sighed, returning for a moment to tend to the ingredients of his alchemy as if worried they would spoil, “We’ve talked about this Emma your parents were just giving you your-“

 

            “My best chance. I know.”

 

Emma diverted her attention for a moment to the men in the courtyard, trying to hear the orders the young man was giving instead of further discussing the conflict of her parents. She liked Archie; he had a habit of honesty. Not always in the small matters of what men were doing in the morning but his offerings of counsel were without reproach.

 

“I know you’re angry with them but the threat to you was very real.”

            “I’m sure _that’s_ why nobody will explain it to me.”

 

“It’s just sensitive.”

 

            At an order from the young man in the sun the crowd of soldiers dispersed.

“It was twenty years ago. I don’t know anyone that sensitive.”

 

            “Well, things are only just getting back to normal, I’m sure after some time…they’ll be more than happy to answer your questions.”

 

            Great, if she waited around long enough someone might bother to explain something to her. She watched the man in the sun walk back across the courtyard.

 

            “Doesn’t matter.”

“Emma, of course it does.”

            “They don’t let me leave the castle, they won’t tell me anything. How am I supposed to trust them?”

 

“They’re your family.”

            “They sure aren’t treating me like family, they’re treating me like a prisoner or a ward or something.”

            “They’re just afraid to lose you, you have to understand that you were gone for a long time.”

 

“I’m gonna be gone for even longer if they don’t start trusting me with my own life.”

            Archie set down his mortar and pestle, nearly finished with whatever it was he was preparing.

“Give them time, it’s hard for them too. I promise, soon, they won’t be as scared.”

Emma perked up at the thought of it.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

As he packed his tools into a leather satchel Archie sighed, “You want to know something? Okay, that young man’s name is Prince Phillip.”

            Emma didn’t look at all relieved.

“They’re not gonna try and marry me off are they? Not that he doesn’t seem like a nice guy from the five minutes I’ve spent watching him from a distance I’m just not the betrothal type,” Emma’s brows knitted as she considered it, “Or the marrying type.”

            Archie’s laugh never made her feel foolish,  “I think his fiancé would be opposed to that. No, Prince Phillip has come from another kingdom for a favor to your family.

            “What kind of favor?”

They were beginning to get into information he seemed less willing to volunteer.

            “An important one, and when he comes back things are going to be different. I promise, you just have to be patient. Now go back up to your chambers, they’ll be looking for you.”

 

            She didn’t.

            After Archie dropped off whatever he’d been busy with he headed back up to the library leaving the barracks free for her to roam. The entire business of being penned up in the castle was uncomfortable, she had built her life from mud and they had claimed it for their own. Fear she understood in good measure but she was a grown woman, if they wanted to act like she was five then they should have been around when she was.

 

            By the time Archie had vacated Prince Phillip was investigating the smithy, he had removed his sun covered breast-plate as well as everything down his arms and seemed a smaller man in just his tunic. Dust always floated through the smithy from the piles of hay kept for the forges, it reminded her of the blacksmith where she’d grown up and stung her eyes as she entered it. As soon as he spied her through it his face cracked into a grin.

            “Hello.”

            She didn’t know if he recognized her, they’d never been introduced which in itself was odd. Normally foreign princes would arrive to fanfare and a feast but he’d nearly been smuggled in. Whatever favor he was doing was not one they’d sought to make public business.

 

            The barracks were made of wide, heavy sandstone but the interior of the smithy was supported with wooden beams. Holes in the ceiling allowed for the passage of smoke and she had seen the canals they used the pipe up seawater to cool the metal. Normally men with broad chests, colored by soot, worked it before the sun got hot but today it’d been abandoned. Whatever operations had brought the Prince here had disrupted the normal pace of castle life.

A bluff seemed her best option.

            “Sorry, I don’t know you, do you work in the smithy?”

The answer was an obvious no, he wore the trappings of a knight and she doubted he ever touched a hammer in his life but he took it in good nature.

            “No, I’m here on a visit, and you are?”

She wasn’t exactly fantastic at improv but she hardly needed to be, anybody who’d grown up at court made easy assumptions of others inferiority. It wasn’t something she could blame them for as it’d been reinforced throughout their lives but having come from the other direction it was something she recognized and wouldn’t mind exploiting. Even if he knew of her she doubted she would be recognized in her clothes, a girl sleeping in wool clothes and cap looked man enough in the dark and it was safer that way. Even around her father’s men there was the threat of a misunderstanding.

            “Just one of the blacksmiths’ daughters, milord. I was looking for him.”

“I cleared the smithy for the day. He didn’t tell you?”

Emma shook her head.           

“I don’t remember you’re arriving. Did I miss a feast?”

            Phillip smiled and looked away, he may have been born at court but he was capable of modesty, “Nothing so festive, I’m afraid I’m here on business.”

            By his expression she guessed its nature was unpleasant.

“What sort?”

            Her poor hand at subtlety had shown enough to make him suspicious but she hoped he would write it off as the curiosity of a peasant.

            “Maybe you should ask your parents my lady.”

She had underestimated him. Whatever Emma’s next lie was going to be it just pulled her mouth open enough to make her look dazed at having been tricked. His ruse revealed, Phillip set to unbuckling what remained of his armor; he had relinquished whoever had helped him with the cuirass to finish the job himself.

            “Uh, okay.”

 

“You didn’t really think I had no idea what the famous lost princess looked like? You’re nearly a bedtime story in my land.”

            With the façade dropped Emma’s voice returned to its normal volume, “Funny, I never heard many bedtime stories growing up. Just cows. Some pigs.”

Phillip chuckled, “There aren’t any of this in the story I know.”

            Emma leaned against one of the wooden beams that crossed the ground beneath the thatched awning, “Yeah, well maybe if someone would let me hear it I would agree with you.”

Phillip paused.

            “Aren’t you a little old for fairytales Lady Swan?”

“I’ve been too old for fairytales my entire life, I’d like to know why.”

            He set the cuisses on one of the blacksmiths’ tables, it wasn’t damaged as far as she could tell but maybe he intended to have it polished, he sighed and started on his greaves.

            “I think it’s left to parents to tell bed time stories.”

“If mine had been around, then maybe they would have.”

            “I can see you won’t be taking no for an answer.”

“Try me.”

 

            The last of his armor joined the other bits he’d removed on the workbench and he spent a moment bouncing on the balls of his feet to stretch his calves, he looked incomplete without his steel but then again, many men did.

            “I suppose I can’t see the harm in a fairy tale.” Across from Emma he took up a similar posture against the workbench, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he prepared to tell his story. He seemed amused with the whole thing, telling allegories to the woman they were about.

            “So once upon a time-“

“What?”

            Phillip grinned, “You’ve really never heard this have you? That’s how they start: fairy tales.”

            Emma shrugged, trying to hide how foolish she felt.

“Well, like most stories this one starts in peace, two kingdoms getting along until the greed of a Queen led her to declare that she would have sovereign rule. The queen’s greed was so great that she intended to kill the court of the other kingdom and used dark magic to gain the power to do so. She poisoned the Queen of the other Kingdom, but not before she’d had a daughter. The greedy Queen knew that this child threatened her sovereignty and used a trick to disgrace her, framing her for the murder of her father the King. For awhile the Queen ruled as she wanted to and even had her own daughter, taught her dark magic and groomed her to be the next ruler of the land. But this new Queen, when she grew up, couldn’t stand the thought that someone lived who could challenge her right to the throne. She began to hunt the woman but in doing so unwittingly drove her into the arms of her true love, a Prince. Together she and the Prince defeated The Evil Queen and banished her outside of their realm. But on their wedding day she swore that if any new heir were born to the throne, she would make sure they never lived to sit it. The Prince and Princess, fearing for their unborn child, entrusted it with the Prince’s father, to be raised as his secret ward. But the King betrayed them, and for a long time the child was lost.”

Here Phillip paused for the effect of the story, Emma couldn’t help but wonder if he had any children of his own, he seemed adept enough at story-telling. Emma had put names to his roles, his mother and father were the King and Queen at least. In the villages where she’d grown up there were whispers of The Evil Queen, tales never raised above hushed voices and always told late at night when the hearth was low. There were legends that even speaking her name too loudly might summon her though Emma had never subscribed to their superstitions the village children would make a game of saying her name in the dark of the forest.  

“Smallfolk thought the Princess was dead, but her parents held out hope. Eventually a mysterious man appeared and made them an offer: that he would find their child for them if your father would volunteer enough of his troops to finally defeat the Evil Queen and bring her back to the castle to be executed. Your father agreed, and here you are.”

“And The Evil Queen?”

Here Phillip uncrossed his arms, a few of the house guard had come down to the training yard to begin preparations. Their din required Phillip to raise his voice but he’d begun to show reluctance in continuing.

            “Defeated, and imprisoned in her own castle.”

“Which is where you’re going.”

            He had not intended to reveal the truth of his mission but it was hardly difficult to guess.

“To retrieve the queen as per your parents agreement.”

“But why you?”

            It seemed as if she’d finally come across something he could share freely, “My kingdom isn’t as well off as it used to be. This favor proves the fealty of my family…and it secures the safety of the Lost Princess. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of a fairy tale?”

            Sitting there amidst the sound of the men readying themselves Emma began to realize how little the truth was worth. The story of her past only left her hungrier and she knew no matter the questions she put to Phillip his chivalry could not sate it. She tried anyway.

            “What about the mysterious man?”

One of the men in the yard called to Phillip and he made a gesture asking to be granted another moment.

“Nobody knows, but I guess every story needs a mysterious, memorable detail. Now if you’ll excuse me Lady Swan.”

            From beneath his discarded armor he dug out his belt and the sword that was sheathed on it, “I hope to see you when I return.”

            “Same.”

 

* * *

           

            Phillip didn’t know these men.

He had requested to bring his own but marching them in any sort of force the miles to King James’ castle and then again out into the wilderness of the North was too great an effort when willing men lived in the castle. Now it was that willingness that worried him. The armory was crowded with volunteers, knights and guardsmen alike who’d come to bring the Queen to justice. They chattered like hens as squires and smiths helped strap those who had them into breastplates or hauberks. It was an atmosphere of merriment in preamble to dire business.

A knight already fully outfitted sat on one of the benches, dressed long before the others and waiting patiently for the commencement of their journey. The knight’s suit was fine, unmarked, castle-forged and not one he recognized. Recruits had come from places he couldn’t have imagined and the enthusiasm for this witch-hunt had long outgrown his ability to control it.

            “Okay men, we have a short ride to do short work. I know you’ve never fought with me but for the journey we have ahead of us I hope we can trust in one another as we trust in the mission given to us by the King. Despite what you may have heard the woman we are tasked with bringing back is mortal like any of us, and we will treat her as such. None of you will do more than follow orders and retrieve her, is that understood?”

            The silence that followed sounded neither like agreement nor dissent but Phillip accepted it as all he was going to get.

           

            The King had kept his word in providing strong horses, the caravan that set out was supplied enough to ride into siege. Too him it seemed overkill, he’d taken less men into battles than he now led to retrieve a captive. It had been months since the King’s forces had made the Queen’s castle into a prison, not that it hadn’t resembled one to begin with. Her fortress, large and dark loomed visible for nearly half-a-day before they came within its actual proximity. In the final mile of the journey the road was lined every dozen yards with a sentinel to stand guard as if the Queen might try a single horse against a legion of opposition.

They had halted at the first of the sentinels to identify themselves and soon were in the gloom cast by the palace. Through the spaces in their visors and from under the rim of their helmets the men he’d brought with him gawked up at it and the horses crossing the threshold of its shadow became unsettled. By the time they reached the gate the sun was sinking down beside it as if to warn them of their trespassing.

            Phillip dismounted at the mouth of the gate.

“We’ll set camp here.”

            There were no arguments to the contrary as not one in their midst wanted to keep the night in the castle. Even as the tents went up no man picked a spot within ten feet of the dark walls, Phillip’s own tent came the closest but even that was a show. The place unsettled him and he wasn’t alone in it, some men kept their weapons on them even as they ate and one amongst them rested in full armor.

            “Ser.”

            The knight jerked his head up as if he had been sleeping.

“Do you need help undressing?”

            The knight shook his head.

“There’s nothing to be frightened of ser, it’s just a castle.”

            Even as he said it he didn’t believe himself.

“If you’re so set on staying in your armor maybe you could stand the first guard? I need to go into the castle to confirm the status of the queen.”

            The armored knight nodded and made to stand but stumbled and Phillip had to rush forward to support him. He’d seen the same before, men who spent days straight in armor who no longer had the strength to stand or stay on a horse, fatigue just from the weight of their protection.

            “Whoa there, you need a rest my friends.”

He pulled the knight’s arm over his and dragged him to standing, beneath the helm he now supported he heard the rattle of breath and in a moment recognized it’s strangeness.

            “Who are you?”

The tired knight suddenly struggled against him, trying to put distance between them as Phillip reached to move the visor from obstructing their identity. The weakness of the days ride crippled their efforts leaving Phillip to take a grip on the visor and pull it up. With her face revealed Emma looked exhausted but just as she opened her mouth to explain herself all of the fires in the camp went out.

 

* * *

 

Regina was sick of her walls, all parts of them.

She hated the dark rough parts as much as the slick parts, shiny as a blade and sometimes just as sharp. The spires and the towers made her ill, as did the countless mirrors (many of which she had now broken). There was no ground left on which she could stand without flying into a rage at the thought of her own imprisonment. Nothing was safe, not the decorated mantle or the feather couches in her bedroom, she had put holes in walls and ceilings and in some rooms the furniture had been reduced to pieces. Slowly, her cage was shrinking- her rage was burning it bit by bit.

The arrival of the lapdogs sent to fetch her was a relief as much as she dreaded it. For a long time she had imagined that they might let her live out her life like a rat in a trap but she’d been wrong, they had come for her head and now all she could do was relish their fear. Even parked at her gate with men at every exit they couldn’t work up the nerve to come in. They could lord over her all they wanted but even chained they were too afraid to lay a finger on her; she loved it and intended to justify their terror at the first opportunity.

This was her mother’s castle.

There were other’s, a large stone manor closer to the coast and garden retreats in the south where it was warmer. There were fortresses, some with high black walls whose tops were crowned with the heads of her mother’s enemies. When she was younger her mother had taken her on a tour of cruelty. She wanted to show her people early who it was that would be ruling them and once they had seen she had been kept in the castle like a trophy. This imprisonment felt much the same as that one, her free will sacrificed for circumstance. It was in this same castle, sitting everyday for the sight of her mother’s procession on the road for the hope that she might be allowed a ride in the forest. Her only happiness was allowed when her mother was attending and in that way she’d been trained in the same way she’d seen the kennel master training dogs. There was no kennel master anymore; they’d slowly bled her of her attendants until she was left in solitary. Alone with her mother’s walls and sometimes her shadow, glimpsed briefly around corners or at her window when she woke up in the middle of the night. Before falling asleep she sometimes thought she heard the muffled beating of a heart that wasn’t hers. This castle was her mother’s and even as she loathed it she could not sacrifice it without fighting.

Waiting for them she had sat vigil on her throne and it was late by the time she heard footsteps, she had thought they would sound like hoof beats or men at march when they came for her but instead they were hurried and alone. The door of her throne room opened not to a garrison of men but one lone figure hurrying past the threshold. It was a single knight, sword drawn, hurrying forward until they had nearly reached the throne.

“Excuse me, who are you supposed to be?”

The knight stopped near the foot of the stairs that held the queen aloft, they’re armor heaving with the effort of their breath, they reached for their helm. Removing it revealed an abundance of blonde hair flowing suddenly over steel shoulders, a girl in armor, her brow drenched in sweat. The girl was barely standing and her fingers, clumsy beneath her gauntlets, let the helm slip to the stone floor with a clatter. The armor she wore was newly dented, a scorch mark visible across her arm and the mail beneath hanging here and there as if cut. Though she was tired she fought the battle to stay on her feet. Whoever she was, Regina thought, she was no knight though she seemed to have the spirit of one.

Panting the girl lifted her sword to point up at her, trying to pretend she had enough strength left to fight a battle.

“What did you do?”

Regina smirked and stood, a single girl in armor with a sword was all the King and Queen had been able to muster; she was almost as disappointed as she was amused. The girl’s arm shook and she brought up her other hand to steady the sword and Regina, descending the steps, pushed the point of it away with a flick of her hand. Even the force of such a small gesture was enough to put the girl off balance and her knees buckled. Seizing the chance Regina placed her hand with a flutter on one of the girl’s pauldrons and with a shove forced her down to one knee.

 

“You’re going to have to be more specific dear, I’ve done a lot of things.”


	2. Chapter 2

The castle’s halls reflected the eerie purple light of it’s ensconced candles and equaled the wickedness of it’s exterior. Emma had feared the dark of the camp might follow but past the portcullis the shadows had abandoned their pursuit. It was only by Phillip’s effort that she had made the gate; in the dark something had come for them, tearing them from one another and knocking Emma on her back. A blow had come down on her stomach, denting her armor so she could feel where the metal brushed her navel. Her instincts screamed to raise her sword and by dumb luck she blocked the second strike inches above her face. Her attacker could not have been more than a foot away but the sky was moonless and not even a silhouette appeared to help her. From the camp she heard men shouting, but there was no clanging of steel.

The thing was shoved off of her. Phillip had regained his footing and seized her by her arm, tugging her to her feet. There was the whisper of his sword being drawn, “Run.”

He shoved her in the direction of the castle’s entrance.

“No, I’m staying.”

He grunted in the dark as if something had struck him and his next order sounded winded, “Emma, you have to get to the Queen.”

Again a hand shoved her through the darkness and stumbling back she felt the stone corner of the gate.

“Go!”

 

She had found the Queen on her throne, a pretty woman in a satin dress, forcing her to kneel. The rage at being subjugated had ripped a retaliatory swing from her diminished strength but her sword had struck nothing but empty air and the Queen stood a few feet up her steps, smirking as if she’d never been any closer. This parable of villainy with which parents threatened their children’s misbehavior was not what she had pictured. There had been stories that she was a hag or that her skin was scaled and rotted off, this woman was younger than she’d thought with thick, dark eyelashes and red lips. Still, she knew better than to believe that was the sum of her- it had taken more than speed to recoil so far so fast and for an unarmed woman in a ruined room she seemed to think herself invincible. Lifting up onto her feet Emma kept her sword between them. It was heavier than she would have thought; the entire spectacle of armament had exhausted her. Two days in full-plate, only allowing herself consideration of removing bits of it to use the bathroom and even then the helm had been non-negotiable. Had any of the other men caught sight of her it would have meant discovery or worse. When Phillip had spoken to her she’d barely been able to stand. Whatever it was that had attacked the camp had provided her with enough adrenaline to reach the throne room but now her hands shook.

“You’re not human.”

The Queen faked a look of pain.

“You wound me,” and then casting a look at her trembling sword she chuckled, “Though I suppose not. Tell me, is the traitor sending little girls to do her work now? As if her idiot husband weren’t bad enough.”

“Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m not answering any questions until you give Phillip back.”

“I don’t have a Phillip, are you entirely sure you’re storming the correct castle?”

            The adrenaline was wearing; she could feel sweat dripping down the lower part of her back and across her brow, it stung her eyes.

“We were attacked outside your gates, the fires went out.”

            The look of amusement that had thus far possessed the Queen dissipated. She pursed her lips and let drop an inch of tension, Emma had apparently imparted her with some knowledge that factored greatly into her mood and when she spoke again her tone had dropped into rough impatience.

            “I’m afraid I can’t take credit for that.”

 

“But I’ll be more than happy to.”

 

            From behind one of the pillars that flanked the throne came a singsong voice that urged her to rethink the positioning of her sword and the giggle that followed turned her sweat cold. Surrounded on both sides and barely keeping her footing she could only spare the strength to look over her shoulder. The man that had emerged was short and impish with a browned smile and what looked like scales alongside the skin of his face. Despite his monstrous presentation of his face he dressed extravagantly in leathers that came from no beast she could place.

 

            “Who’s he?”

“I’m in the room dearie, I can hear you.”

            His sentences ended with a taunting upward snap, the Queen had no intention of humoring her.

“What do you need someone to translate it into idiot? Ask him yourself.”

“Fine, who are you?”

The Imp grinned gleefully, “I don’t think I’m going to tell you. Of course, it’s not as if it matters. I’m not here for you.”

 

The Imp trotted past her and towards the throne, approaching the Queen who had considerable distaste for whatever was taking place.

“What do you want?”

“Well, what I’m owed of course.”

 

            Beginning to feel like an outsider in the proceedings Emma took a step forward, forcing her sword closer to their conversation though neither seemed bothered by her, “You’re not taking her anywhere.”

 

            This candor earned his attention, he looked away from the Queen to smile at her with a small, amused mewl. For a moment he appeared to be thinking and then, losing interest, he returned to his business.

            “I’ve come to collect, the timing seemed,” he paused for effect, “appropriate.”

Not appreciating his decision to ignore her Emma thrust the tip of her blade up under the Imp’s chin catching him, at least in slight, off guard.

            “I said she’s not going anywhere; unless it’s with me.”

He humored the blade for a moment, staring down to where she held it.

            “You might learn to watch your enthusiasm in powerful company dearie, before it gets you into the same trouble it got your little friends.”

 

Emma shifted the position of her arm, meaning it as a threat, “Where’s Phillip?”

            He giggled wickedly, “In the dark.”

 

For all the intimidation she could muster she had no will to harm him, which he seemed to know seeing as he spoke like a man without a sword at his throat.

            “Bring him back.”

The Imp hummed as if considering it for a moment and then barked a quick, “No.”

            With a swat he warded the sword away, “Or at least, not for free. You want them back? Fine. Leave me the Queen.”

            “What?”

 

“I give you back the men you traveled with but I keep her.”

            Almost delicately he extended an index finger in the direction of the Queen, who stood still slightly above them on the steps that lead to her throne, looking to be in an unpleasant mood. It was a trap of a deal, taking Phillip and his men only so he could offer them back and in doing so take the prisoner she came for. At least she knew now that they could be returned.

“You go back to whoever it was that sent you and tell them she wasn’t home.”

            “What does she owe you?”

 

There was no point in aiming her sword any longer being that none in present company feared it enough for it to make an effective offense. Here the Queen finally interjected, “That’s none of your business.”

 

He ignored her, “Our majesty owes me an errand, she just needs to fetch something for me. A tiny favor.”

“What exactly is she supposed to _fetch_?”

Licking his lips for a moment in delightful preparation, he answered, “The Holy Grail,” and the Queen’s expression soured.

 

            Emma had heard tales of the Holy Grail, first in the mouths of the nuns that’d taught her how to read and once she’d learned she’d found it in the books they kept. It’s origin’s had never interested her so much as it’s effects, a source of immortality and grace eternally sought by it’s believers. The entire thing had seemed fanciful to her but she guessed she was in the company of the sorts of people who might be interested in it. That didn’t change that finding it was a metaphor for the impossible if it was real at all, which she doubted. It was the kind of tale knights made up in search of glory, like the parents of misbehaving children and their version of The Evil Queen.

            “It isn’t real.”

“That doesn’t matter, what matters is: she owes it to me.”

            “So she owes you something that doesn’t exist.”

“It exists.”

 

            The pair of them looked to the Queen.

“I assure you, it’s the retrieving it that’s proven difficult.”

 

            “Well, now’s the time Dearie, as you know, breaking a deal with me can be,” He hummed as he selected the next word, “Unpleasant.”

 

            His threats fell on uninterested ears; she looked far more bored than she did frightened, “Well, seeing as it’s not hidden in the cell I’m to occupy getting it for you has just become complicated.”

            “A cell? How original.”

“Yes, the girl in the ill-fitting armor is here on the conditions of my defeat. I’m to be taken to the castle and executed which puts you and your Grail low on my priority list.”

 

“And you think my showing up now was what? A coincidence? I plan to collect before you, let’s say, lose your head.”

 

Here he drew his finger across his throat in a colorful demonstration of her fate.

           

“I told you-“

“She’s not going anywhere, unless, as you said, it’s with you. Which is precisely why you’re going to accompany her.”

 

            The pair of them turned on him and in unison said, “What?”

 

He delighted in the confusion.

“Being that we all want something: you go with her, as you seem to so desperately want to. You assist her in finding the Grail, which as she claims, exists. Once I have the Grail, I’ll return your men and being that her debt is settled she’s of no use to me. I get the Grail, you get the Queen, and you,” He directed his last statement to the Queen, “Get to lose that head you like so much.”

            “Wonderful, I can’ possibly think of a reason I’d disagree.”

 

“Or, if you prefer,” He stuck his index finger in the air to add punctuation to the forthcoming addendum, “I could just kill you both now.”

 

            “I’d like to see you try.”

 

It was the Queen who spoke, but she voiced Emma’s sentiments precisely.

            “Would you?”

As the only armed person in a room of three people Emma felt she might have been the least prepared for combat, whatever grudge existed between these two strangers was deep as blood. Both looked nearly about to rip the others throat out and all she could do was look between them, prepared to lift her useless swords if manners began to escalate.

But they didn’t, though she was snarling the Queen relented, turning to Emma, “And what do you think about all this?”

“I think I don’t have much of a choice.”

 

The Imp looked pleased, not the gleeful mad kind of amusement he’d expressed before but the look of a man who had accomplished what it was he’d wanted. It was a dangerous look and Emma hoped not to see it again for a long while knowing that anything he saw as an accomplishment would not end well.

            “Smart girl.”

His business complete the Imp bounced down the steps pausing on the last to look up at the pair of them, “But something’s missing.”

Behind her the Queen put her hands on her hips, not entertained by his antics. He looked between them, trying to identify exactly what it was he’d thought to add and after a moment his face split into a grin.

“That will do it.”

 

At first she failed to understand his meaning but after a moment Emma realized the feeling of lightness, the cumbersome armor seemed to have lifted and looking down to confirm this she realized it had not disappeared but changed completely. The chest plate, dented in the dark as she’d made her way away from the encampment was new, shiny and lighter The pieces she’d stolen, unfitted to her form had been replaced by pauldrons that sat her shoulders as if they were forged for her and sabatons that left no space for her feet to rattle around. Even the sword she held had been remade, narrowed and sharpened and made effective. The handle was rewrapped in soft leather for cushion and the pommel and guard were gold. The detail on the armor’s front had been elaborately embossed; a swan took flight over a battlefield. It was a suit of mail she might have worn whilst she was dreaming.

 

The Imp nodded, please with his work “A queen needs a knight, don’t you think?”

 

Taking the opportunity to look down at her new armor was time enough for the man, if he was a man, to escape. He’d vanished from where he’d stood before.

“Who was that?”

“A necessary evil, though he’s not who you should be worrying about.”

            The queen made a claw of her hand as if to summon evil and Emma, anticipating danger, raised her sword to defend herself. It seemed lighter than before or perhaps she had become stronger and it imbued her with enough confidence to stand her ground but nothing happened. The Queen repeated the gesture without any further success, her face was contorted by confusion, “What?”

            Emma kept her sword raised, not intending to lower it until she had some sort of understanding of what was going on. Resigned the Queen clutched her hand into a fist, “The armor. That insufferable imp.”

“What about the armor?”

            “He enchanted it.”

“Of course, enchanted armor to get the Holy Grail. You’re insane.”

            “Excuse me?”

“It’s fine, you can fly and eat children for all I care I just need you to come with me.”

            “I’m afraid it’s not going to be that simple.”

“You have horses right?”

            The Queen looked confused for a moment, “Yes, I have horses but that’s not the problem. The problem is the retrieval of the Holy Grail.”

            “You know where it is?”

“I know how to find it.”

“Good, see? Simple. Do you think we could maybe leave tomorrow? After eating?”

            “I-“

“Not like a feast or anything I just haven’t eaten all day.”

             “So you’re going to break into my home, eat my food and take me prisoner?”

“Look, I’m tired and there’s only one way we’re both getting what we need so I’ll help you find the Grail, you help me get Phillip back.”

            The Queen sneered.

            “Of course, and then to celebrate you take me back to your king and queen and cut off my head. Sounds like a wonderful trip.”

            “I don’t now anything about that but once we don’t come back they’ll send more knights, if you help get Phillip back maybe they’ll show you mercy.”

            “Mercy? Who exactly do you think you’re talking to?”

This was becoming exhausting, if she had wanted to argue with a brick wall she would have stayed at home and had conversations with her mother about being allowed to leave the castle. All the fuss they’d put into her safety now seemed excessive, had a contentious woman with a grudge been all it’d taken for them to ship her off to god-knows-where?

“There’s two ways this can happen, the pair of us stay in this big empty castle until someone _else_ shows up to take you prisoner. Or, we try to find your magic cup and return having rescued a foreign prince which sounds to me like a much better argument for you keeping your life.”

This was making more sense than her negotiations normally tended to, her genetics had neglected to imbue her with the manipulative wiles of a lady at court and those times when she’d had to talk herself out of situations most of the conversation had been monopolized by her fists and a hot poker. Now that she was wielding an appropriate sword the feel of it seemed natural. The Imp might have used the word ‘knight’ to mock her and it was true that claiming it for herself was ridiculous: she had no formal training in swordsmanship, could only just ride a horse with any success and had never won a joust in her life.

 

Still, it was a word she wanted. It sounded, to her, much better than ‘princess.’

 

“Well, what’s your answer ‘your majesty’?”

 

            There weren’t any servants left, though Emma didn’t know if there had ever been any. Many parts of the castle seemed to have never been touched while others lay completely in ruins. Rooms that hadn’t succumbed to some form of destruction were mostly those with furniture draped in canvas; from the hall they had looked filled with ghosts. She’d been allowed to select food from the pantries and given a bed in the servants’ quarters, which seemed luxurious after the nights spent on the ground. The chamber must have been underground; the stones were cold and tended towards the same purple glow that permeated the halls. From the bed she’d chosen she thought she heard the babbling of water but the only entrance was the stairway that she’d been sent down. It wasn’t dripping, but the sound of a stream and besides that nothing, the castle was silent. As soon as she was sure she was by herself she unstrapped her plate at the side. The feeling of air blowing through the stitching in her tunic made her want to collapse in sleep but she worked through the process of removing the remainder of her armor, admiring each piece before laying it with the rest of its set on one of the unoccupied beds. She could use a bath but she knew that was an unrealistic stretch of the Queen’s hospitality and even if she’d allow it there was no one present to draw water. In the morning maybe she’d ask about the underground brook and if it was water enough to at least get herself clean before setting off again. Her armor one bed away she kept her sword in hand. It was sharp, even just touching it seemed ill advised and the craftsmanship of the pommel was unlike anything she’d ever seen. That night she slept with her arm hanging off the side of her bed, fingers gripping the sword’s handle.

 

            By the time she’d found her way out of the servant’s quarters the next morning the sun was up, it’d been hard to tell from anywhere but the main floor as nothing below even hinted at the presence of light. The ease of the new armor had granted her the welcome ability of dressing herself though she rather wished she didn’t have to. Though lighter than her previous plate it was still an outfit comprised of metal and just about anything was more comfortable. Still, she remembered the Queen’s confusion the day prior and while she didn’t believe in enchantments at the very least she thought it was better to be protected until they settled into their arrangement of companionship. If that ever happened.

            The Queen had taken no such precautions, in fact it seemed that she had chosen her outfit in hopes of drawing attention to herself. Her coat was red with sharp shoulders and fabric that reached her ankles, a necklace of webbed diamonds covered her chest and the height of the feather on her hat was enough by itself to track her through the forest.

 

            Two horses trotted at either side of her from the low building of the stables. Emma had never cared for horses; her first attempts at riding had ended with her being thrown from a packhorse and having to spend a month in bed. The horse she’d ridden down with Phillip had been small and temperless but the two the Queen now provided were among the biggest she’d seen outside of the horses in her parents’ stables. The left horse was a palfrey and by the way the Queen stood beside it she guessed she would be left with it’s opposite, a destrier probably sixteen hands high and all in black. It was a knight’s horse and it seemed to know she was no knight.

            Both horses were already saddled and packed and she had the notion that altogether the destrier and its saddle were probably worth more money than any and all possessions she’d had growing up.

            “Who saddled them?”

The Queen looked up from her palfrey as if offended, “I did. Some people find more productive ways to spend time than sleeping until noon.”

 

            “You could have woken me up.”

“A prisoner waking their jailer, of course.”

            “I’m not your jailer.”

 

            Without borrowing any attention from their conversation the Queen mounted her palfrey in a single easy motion, Emma had no doubts by then that she was a woman comfortable with riding which only gave the task before her more potential for embarrassment.

            “Right, and what do you prefer I call you ‘knight’? ‘Ser’?”

Emma grasped either side of the saddle and jerked her leg up into the stirrup, the armor made it difficult to get the necessary flexibility out of her leg and she would have lost her balance if not for the horse.

“My name’s Emma.”

With a grunt she tugged on the saddle and tried to pull herself up but underestimated the weight of the armor and couldn’t even begin to throw her leg over the width of the horse. With a click the Queen led her horse around to Emma’s other side as if to watch her making a fool of herself.

“Well, _Ser_ Emma, you should have a few complaints for whoever squired you if they never taught you how to mount a horse.”

Emma was too frustrated with the horse problem to endure much more snark.

“I’m not a knight.”

“Really? What a surprise.”

            The Queen’s tone was flattened by sarcasm.

“Though I do hope you can actually ride a horse.”

            Emma didn’t answer, instead she pulled again trying to heave herself up and onto the horse but she failed to get her leg up high enough and once again had to return to the ground.

            “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, just…give me a second.”

            For another minute of Emma’s struggling the Queen kept her horse still before wheeling it back around, “You don’t pull yourself up, you push. If you can’t at least handle that this is going to be a short quest.”

 

* * *

 

 

For all she cared the girl could fall off of her horse.

            The entire scheme was ill fated, there was no way that someone unable to get in a saddle was going to be anywhere near capable enough to carry out _any_ quest, much less the retrieval of the Grail. As far as she could tell it might have been her best-case scenario but even if the girl were to die her freedom would be fleeting. The conditions of her defeat had been clear and she hadn’t run yet, to do so now seemed cowardly and besides there was the matter with Rumplestiltskin.  By the time Emma, as she had introduced herself, had managed to get on her horse Regina had already started out of the gates. She had no desire to linger; the leaving of her mother’s castle was difficult enough without being mocked for her attachments to it. There would be no dewy eyed trot from it’s gate, she kept her head high as she left it’s shadow. In her life there had been times when it was her prison but her final departure felt less like an escape and more like a transfer, there wasn’t any freedom in it.

            Emma was uncomfortable but adequate on horseback; no doubt she would hurt by the end of a day of riding but Regina wasn’t about to go handing out pointers for the sake of her comfort. The girl was a nagging abnormality, more than just a doomed idiot though she couldn’t determine exactly why. It was an attribute of unique familiarity that she couldn’t place despite scrutinizing the girl’s shoulders as she fumbled for a moment and nearly fell.

 

            “So where are we going?”

“Lake Nostos.”

            Unable to slow her horse enough to get beside Regina, Emma had to call back over her shoulder if she wanted to converse.

            “The magic lake?”

“Nice to know you’re not completely ignorant.”

 

            Emma pulled the reins of her horse firmly, finally getting it to slow enough that Regina’s pace brought them parallel with one another, having to watch her sit a saddle up close was almost painful. She was clueless as to how to move her body to keep in time with the horse’s movement and Regina tried not to flinch at her lack of grace.

 

            “You think someone who thinks they’re as smart as you do wouldn’t insult the person sent to bring them to their death so much”

 

            “Oh, please. As if you pose any threat to me. Some peasant girl pretending she’s a knight.”

 

“Your majesty!”

            A ways up the road two men on horseback wore the king and queen’s colors, they approached in full-plate and despite the insults Regina had served her Emma released the reins on her horse and crossed in front of her as if to keep the men from attacking. Being called ‘your majesty’, though it was familiar, confused. As far as she could tell there were few in the realm that still swore that allegiance, fewer that would openly announce it on the road, and none that would do so wearing the royal colors.

            “What do you want?”

            Regina wasn’t one to let others do the talking for her but Emma’s sudden confidence in the face of these men hinted to her that something more was going on.

            “Your father sent us after it was discovered that you left the castle. Where’s Prince Phillip?”

            Before anyone could offer an explanation to Phillip’s whereabouts Regina had come to the logical conclusion.

            “Your father?”

The growing growl of her tone caused Emma to turn and look at her as if she’d broken some nonexistent trust and the sudden sound of galloping gave her less than a moment to realize that soon there would be an enemy within an area of attack. One or both of the men had realized her identity and decided the princess needed protecting. In the time she had she managed to tug the reins enough to turn her horse and create space for the first of the two men to ride between Emma and herself with his sword drawn. The other stayed behind as if they thought Regina had been sneaking up on her and was only now about to attack.

            “Your majesty this is the Queen.”

 

“So I see your men are about as smart as you are. Though I don’t know what you can expect from someone raised by peasants.”

 

            With a man between them Emma’s frustration allowed itself articulation, ”Something that would never have been a problem if not for you.”

 

            “Oh, I’m sure you would have done just as well even with your darling parents.”

 

            The guardsmen may not have been privy to particulars of the spat that was occurring but knew better than to lower their swords or interrupt royalty when they were arguing. Only when Emma didn’t retort did the guard behind her speak again, “Milady, if you’ll allow us to take the Queen into custody I’ll make a camp for you and when Claude returns he can bring you suitable riding clothes and a palfrey.”

            “I’m fine to ride like this and I’m the one escorting the Queen, if it makes you feel better you can ride back and tell that to my parents.”

            The man looked at her as if he didn’t understand, “Your majesty I have to insist, the Evil Queen is treacherous, leaving you alone with her would be a great risk to your life.”

            “I’ve been alone with her all morning, and last night.”

The guard cocked his head as if questioning her meaning.

            “How did Prince Phillip come to leave you in her company?”

The man’s tone had taken on a lilt of suspicion. The words ‘kidnapped by a magical imp’ did not come easy for Emma and the opting towards something less fantastical caused her answer to come out bungled.

            “He’s...he’s gone.”

            As far as Regina was concerned every word out of Emma’s mouth was a convincing case against the inheritability of the kingdom, her blood fit her as ill as her first set of armor had but even still she echoed her father. Regina should have realized it the second she had picked up that golden sword.

            “But the Queen is helping me to rescue them, that’s why I have to take her South.”

The men’s suspicion had blossomed at Emma’s talking about changing the course, bad enough that she wouldn’t comply with dressing like a Princess. Despite the hatred Regina felt for the king and queen and by extension their offspring, she recognized a kinship in not belonging as if having known one another sooner or under different circumstances might have allowed for friendship. Things being as they were however, that wasn’t likely to happen. In fact they were unlikely to know one another for more than a few minutes longer at Emma’s blistering pace of miscommunication. Not to mention her plans for the Grail would go unexecuted.

“Milady, I fear your time with her may have filled your head with evil notions. We’ll take her to your parents and you can rest here until we can bring you a carriage for the journey home.”

 

“I don’t have any evil notions, I’ll bring her to my parents once I’ve helped Phillip.”

“Do you mean once you’ve helped her?”

 

Emma’s mouth hung open for a second unable to articulate in a short enough amount of words both his rightness and his wrongness, after a moment she closed her mouth to sort of pout as she was thinking but her silence had already done it’s damage.

 

“She’s under the thrall of the Evil Queen.”

The shout came from the man behind Emma but it was the one between them who drew his sword. This escalation, despite it not being much of a shock, surprised Regina with its suddenness.

 

“I didn’t ‘enthrall’ anybody.”

Speaking did nothing to convince them and seconds after the sentence left her mouth the sword whistled through the air in front of her; it was only by the intuition of her mount that it missed. From behind the guard, whom she had inferred from the other was named Claude; Emma had turned to face the altercation.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her.”

Regina turned the horse to gallop away and in doing so lost sight of Emma, she heard the second guard trying to reason with her.

 

“Your majesty please, calm down, stay with me. Once we’ve taken care of her you’re mind will be yours again.”

 

That was all she stayed to hear as she kicked her heel into her horses flank and took off at a wicked gallop back down the road. The rumbling sound of hooves behind her let her know that Claude had given chase. After a bend the road was straight and wide and though she was the quicker rider she had doubts that she could escape him. Even if she was faster it would only end back at her castle, the confrontation was imminent. If she was far enough from Emma and her infuriating armor she thought she could use magic to protect herself and so she lowered herself skillfully, flattened against the back of the horse and spurred it on down the road as fast as it would allow. After a few seconds of hard riding she dared to peek behind her and to her surprise saw nothing. Slowing her horse she circled it once or twice looking back, the road was empty except for the towering trees on either side that bent in to canopy it. For a second she waited in silence and then the sound of hoofs. Even with her skill there was no way she’d gotten so far ahead of a trained rider on a good horse, something else had intervened and when the steed came into sight it’s empty saddle proved her right. The horse passed, continuing on at speed down the road and again things were silent.

In the silence she heard freedom whisper, it called from the forest like a nymph but even as it beckoned she knew it was a trap. Eluding the king and queen’s forces would take no great effort, but Rumplestiltskin would find her no matter what corner of the Earth she crawled to. At a slower pace she started back up the road, the bend blocked sight of anything further but coming around it she saw what had impeded her pursuer.

He lay on the ground, not moving. His armor wasn’t crushed and as far as she could tell there was no blood, which was a pity. It was likely he was concussed especially as it was Emma who stood beside him, her hands on her knees sucking in breath as if she’d just run miles. Further down the road she saw the second man in a similar state, of the three of them, while two were unconscious Emma was the only one with visible damage. A web of blood zigzagged down from a gash on her brow and pinkened the blond hair of her eyebrow. Regina brought her horse to a halt a few feet away but didn’t bother to dismount.

“You saved me?” The words came out incredulous as if her surprise was not at the fact that Emma was willing to save her but that she had been capable of unhorsing two trained swordsmen.

Still huffing Emma looked up from the man she’d bested and after a second, nodded, “Seemed like the honorable thing to do.”

Not wanting to show any undue kindness Regina couldn’t help but feel the slightest touch of gratitude and masked it immediately with dissatisfaction, “No doubt you’ve lost my horse.”

“I fell off,” As if to confirm this she reached for the bloody wound on her head and pulled her fingers back wet and red, “They fell harder.”

 

“You’re the princess.”

Emma looked back down as if the question had further sapped her energy and after a second she replied, “Yeah, doesn’t exactly suit me.”

 

            It wasn’t like Regina could blame her for not disclosing such information; it only hardened a resolve to do damage but she wouldn’t have agreed to any of this if she’d known. Rumplestiltskin would have gone without his cup even if it meant following through on his threats to kill her.

            “And you just disabled your only protection.”

Regina stated all of these facts as if fascinated by both Emma’s stupidity and her luck. The revenge she had sought for so long had been presented to her and made vulnerable without her even trying.

            “Right, so what happens now? You get off the horse and try to beat me up?”

Maybe not as vulnerable as she would have liked, if she had her magic the girl would be dust but Rumplestiltskin had eliminated that possibility and no doubt he’d done so on purpose. He had known the whole time. Regina gritted her teeth against her options. There were two: Ride off by herself to retrieve the Grail or continue on as was planned. The first one was the more attractive, granted the particulars would require her to eventually recruit another chump to assist in it’s retrieval but it was the second that afforded her a unique opportunity. Surely if they continued to travel together a chance to kill her would present itself, she couldn’t wear that armor indefinitely.

            “No, we keep going.”

“What?”

            “Trust me, I’m not happy about it either.”

            With the same grace she had employed getting on the horse Regina dismounted, fearing that she meant to attack her despite her words Emma grabbed the handle of her sword and tugged at it. The blade didn’t come all the way out of the sheath on the first try and she had to pull again, fumbling as she did.

            Regina narrowed her eyes at her, “Calm down, we can’t continue on the road. Once you’re father’s cronies wake up they’ll no doubt return to your parents’ and tell them you’re under the ‘ _thrall_ of the Evil Queen’ as I assume you object to my killing them.”

            Emma returned the sword, which she hadn’t gotten all the way out anyway, back to the scabbard.

            “So let me get this right, the Holy Grail is real, enchanted armor is real but the idea that I’m in your thrall is ridiculous?”

 

“Do you feel enthralled?”

“I don’t know, what does ‘enthralled’ feel like?”

            “I don’t have time or small enough words to explain this to you.”

“Fine, whatever you say, Evil Queen.”

 

            Regina had begun stripping the saddle from her horse, “Regina.”

“What?”

            “Did you hit your head falling off that horse or can you just not hear? My name is Regina.”

 

            Not looking at her Regina unlatched the buckles on the saddle and pulled it off onto the ground.

“We’ll go through the forest, we can get to the river on foot and follow it south.”

 

            Emma stood by a bit uselessly as Regina, having freed her horse of its burden, slapped it on the flank and it began a swift run down the road. For a moment she was sad to see him go, he was among the few companions she had been allowed in her time of isolation but the pain was eased by the knowledge that she would see him again, she had no doubt of that. The saddle however she would have to leave with the exception of some supplies. She removed a pack from the horse and threw it at Emma; the girl barely caught it, if they were going on this journey then she wasn’t going to die of exposure in the forest.

            Almost as an afterthought she pulled a handkerchief from the front pocket of her velvet riding jacket, it was black silk, one of many. She tossed it after the pack for Emma to catch, being light it floated and she had to take a step forward to get her fingers on it.

            “Clean up your face.”


End file.
